


Liars, Both of Them

by imperfectkreis



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3077561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor have a conversation overlooking the Waking Sea. Both are accustomed to lies and wanting things they should well stay away from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liars, Both of Them

**Author's Note:**

> Seen a lot of "Inquisitor and Dorian are bros" stories. This is my take on "Inquisitor and Bull are bros," because she's a crass perverted asshole.

His name means liar, but he lies about that too, when and where he can. Doesn't mind making up a new name and smearing it up and down Thedas either. But in the end he's good. He's of the Qun and that's what matters. The Iron Bull has always assumed he'll die among Southerners, hopefully with a couple of redheads in his bed and a bellyful of good food and bad alcohol. He's never made provisions for going home. As long as he thinks he’s good, he’s good. 

He's got a pretty good handle on himself, all things considered. Knows who he is and what he wants. Knows when to hold back too. His business is information, the killing is really more about pleasure. Killing is warm, wet, alive in the process of dying. It's brilliant and he's done a lot of it today. Good day.

The Inquisitor has them marching up the Storm Coast, again. There are more important matters that need the Inquisition's attention in other regions. Hell, it's only two weeks until the Empresses' ball. But here they are, against gray stone cliffs and green vegetation, looking across the Waking Sea. He knows why.

"Think you can swim home, Inquisitor?" He's smiling but she's not looking in his direction at all. 

The others are back at camp. It's just the two of them, edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea.

In response she grunts and draws her bow. She's a shit shot, but Sera has supposedly been giving her lessons. Bull knows why on that matter too. Her calloused fingers draw back the bowstring, unsteady, unsure, unlike the way she strikes with blades. She thinks too hard about aiming but all she's pointing at is the Sea. Pulls back, exhale, release. The arrow dies in the waves. Maybe she can't aim for shit, but she's certainly got the strength for it. 

Bull puts his arms behind his back and stands at attention, hoping she'll speak first. Isn't a bit of wallflower about her, but sometimes she does get real quiet like this. When she refuses to break the silence, he does instead.

"You shouldn't take what the Commander said too seriously."

That earns him a laugh and she stows the bow. "No, I shouldn't. Besides, I wanted things this way."

"No you didn't, you don't. You're just too proud." That might earn him a knife to the stomach, calling her out on her own bullshit. But it would only be a scratch with those puny things she calls weapons, so it's worth it.

She shrugs off the suggestion. "I'm not right for him, he's not right for me."

"Oh," Bull lifts one eyebrow. "So you reconsidering my offer, then?"

"Yes, but I also don't want a fireball crawling up my ass." That was the Inquisitor, giving as good as she got. It was Bull's turn to huff and puff in mock embarrassment and concern.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She waves him off. Despite all their rough and tumble fighting during the day, her nails are well manicured as ever. Can take the noble out of her finery but maybe not the finery out of the noble. No wonder she and Dorian were so fond of each other. No wonder he was fond of them both as well. Pretty things that would fit in his hands. Shiny and expensive things he wasn't supposed to be laying his hands on.

Her smile is downright wicked. "I bet he makes the best noises when you fuck him."

Bull nearly chokes on his spit. Yeah, she's said things like that before. When the two of them are alone, never in front of the others. It's why he was certain at first she was coming for him, with the blunt way she spoke. Now he knew better, that she held these conversations in confidence, trying to hang on to a piece of the woman she was privately, when her public persona was Chantry-scrubbed. 

He couldn't forget the street painter in Val Royeaux, with his newest work, "the Inquisitor," three-quarters of the way finished. The woman in the painting looked young, barely out of her teens, glossy, straight black hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Didn't look a thing like the Inquisitor. She'd laughed and bought it, unfinished. Later, she threw knives at it and then let Dorian burn it to ash.

"They want me to be beautiful," she had said. "They want me to be a lot of things I'm not."

Bull knew the feeling.

"I manage to keep him quiet, most of the time. Takes some effort."

"I wouldn't, I'd let him scream and scream for me." With a pretty smile, she turns on her heel and walks back to camp, the bow bouncing along her back and curve of her ass because she didn't bother to secure it properly. It's likely to go right back into the wagon and not come out again for a good long time. Maybe when they're back at Skyhold and Sera feels like holding a lesson.

But the sun's going down and they're starting early on a Red Templar lead, so there's no use starting anything new to amuse himself. The Inquisitor sits by the fire with Cassandra, listening intently and nodding as the Seeker speaks. 

Bull slips into the tent he's to share with Dorian. While he now knows that the Inquisitor knows, and he suspected that she knew all along, for what it was worth, this sleeping arrangement still made the most sense. Inquisitor bunked with Cassandra. 

Dorian is under layers of pelts, still unused to the cold. He claims he'll get used to it when he's good and dead. Until then, he has every right and capability to complain.

When Bull enters the tent Dorian scoffs, and makes some off-hand complaint about the smell, and how much space he takes up. But his protestations end when Bull pushes him onto his back against the thin canvas of the tent floor and climbs atop him, careful to support his own weight and not to crush.

At first it's only strain after strain of quiet curses in Tevene but little by little he transitions into Trade. 

"What, are you trying to cause a scene?"

"Maybe," Bull winks with his good eye.

"Everyone will hear, you lout."

Bull is happy with the silence when his lips are on Dorian's. They are a bit waxy, something Dorian puts on them to keep them soft and ripe and a little glossy. Makes Bull want to eat him whole, sometimes.

And when Dorian kisses back, pushing his weight up onto his elbows to meet Bull part-way, he knows he's got the mage good. Bull pushes him back down with one hand in the center of his chest, holds him in place and let's him squirm a little bit, feeling the pressure right there against his sternum and ceding control to Bull. That little bit of fight is important. Hell, he’d take more of the fight. Loves the fight.

"They'll hear," touch of desperation, touch of arousal in Dorian's voice. More of the latter. And no watchword. 

"That's kind of the plan."

A sound of protest starts at Dorian's lips, fades to a groan in his throat, and then a whine that seems to be everywhere at once.


End file.
